


Ripples After The Storm

by TeaGirrl



Series: A New and Royal Dawn [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Immortal Merlin, Love, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaGirrl/pseuds/TeaGirrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short reincarnation fic, featuring Arthur emerging from the lake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripples After The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my work in progress Merlin Reincarnation series.

Time is a cruel thing. The way it passes too slowly when one is waiting for something. And the way the moments one wishes to cherish for the rest of eternity fly by too quickly, the lovely details blurring, not allowing for enough time to let them sink in.

But perhaps time is at its most cruel when it ebbs and flows around one and refuses to touch or change you; when it doesn’t slowly turn one’s body into ash, but allows one to see many centuries, to see many lives come to be, and in turn disappear. This kind of time forces one to experience an amount of heartache that no man should have to bear and survive alone.

And yet, at the same time, time can be merciful. And the passing of enough time can bring about its own reward. Time can return that which has been lost. Time can sometimes promise that with the passing of enough moons and decades, the thing one loves the most – the person one cannot live without – will return, as if no time has passed at all.

 

*          *          *

 

He sips his tea, letting the warm beverage soothe his cold and tired bones as he stands by the window, watching and waiting.

He watches the still surface of the lake just across the road, his eyes – which have seen enough moments of happiness and suffering to fill countless lifetimes – trained, searching for a ripple.

“Please be today,” he whispers to himself.

He can’t remember when he started talking to himself. Perhaps it was after his second wife died, and in turn his children and grandchildren, when he had grown tired of losing his loved ones, of having to watch them wither and slip through his fingers. Unable to bring himself to search for new company, he let his own voice and thoughts fill the silences. Not that his thoughts differed much. They tended to circle around that one nagging, desperate plea. _Please be today._

He can see his reflection in the glass in front of him. He stopped wearing his mask of age and bitterness, the face of Emrys a long time ago. His face looks just as it always has; full lips, fair skin, prominent cheekbones, and blue eyes that haven’t sparked with magic for a long time. For this he is slightly grateful; he wants him to recognize him when he eventually comes back.

He stands in the kitchen of the small cottage he built. It is a haven made entirely from the magic that flows through his veins. He can hear the magic sing to him from the insolation in the walls, and he can feel it cradle his feet with every step he takes across the wooden floors. He’d needed a place where he could remain close to his King, a shelter where he could hide and bide his time.

And oh, how tiresome this biding has been. He has lost count of the amount of times he has rushed out, sprinting across the lawn and into the cold water by the shore of the lake, thinking he’d seen a gentle disturbance in the water’s glassy surface, or how many blonde-haired strangers he has stopped on the street, thinking it was _him._ And he has lost count of how many bottles of whiskey and wine he has drained in an attempt to numb his mind and hopes, and how many tears he has cried on the annual day that marks the passing of yet another year spent waiting, biding, and yearning.

He is ashamed to admit that there have been days when he has tried to end it all, days when he was prepared to welcome eternal darkness, in the hope that that darkness would eventually lead him to a place where his King was waiting for him. They were days when his mind was clouded by alcohol, and he managed to convince himself that Kilgarrah had been wrong. Arthur was not coming back. There was no point prolonging his misery.

But his magic had intervened every time, causing the rope to snap; the dark, unforgiving ocean to let him breathe; the bullet to disintegrate in the barrel of the gun; his body to drift like a feather down towards the crowded street below him.

And after every failed attempt, his magic would show him Arthur’s face, his golden hair like a halo, his calm smile, and Merlin would hear him whisper “ _Just hold on a little longer. For me, Merlin. Stay, for me.”_

And so Merlin would stay, letting the fresh memory of Arthur soothe him to sleep and persuade him to get up in the mornings. The hope of Arthur’s return is the only thing Merlin has left to live for. And some days that’s enough, but some days even the promise of being reunited cannot soothe his weary soul and aching heart.

He has drained his tea and is about to turn away when he thinks he sees something breaking through the lake’s surface. He whirls around and presses his face to the glass. His blue eyes flash for an instant, and he lets his magic flicker across the lake, searching for a heartbeat. It searches frantically for a few moments, but then, suddenly he doesn’t need his magic anymore. He can see the glint of wet armour break the surface.

And this is the small push Merlin needs before he drops his cup in the sink, throws open the door and sprints down the path leading to the shore where his love is stirring.

“Please be you. Please be you,” he chants under his breath as his legs propel him to the water’s edge. He skids to a stop just as the cool water laps against the tips of his slippers.

Merlin stays still and holds his breath as the crown of a head emerges from the lake a few feet from where he’s standing. The crown soon becomes a head, which soon grows to a body wearing armour and a sword at its side. A long, drenched cape, the colour of blood and fire, trails behind the body as it stands with water up to its thighs, head still bowed. It is a cape Merlin remembers cleaning countless times, lifetimes ago.

The figure finally lifts his head, and Merlin lets the breath he has been holding out in a gush as he is met by vivid blue, sparkling, familiar eyes.

Merlin sighs his name softly in relief; he can already feel his heart mending. He has never said his name aloud since their parting, and it tastes odd and comforting on his tongue.

Arthur smiles at him. It is a joyous smile of victory and recognition. His hair is plastered to his forehead and water is dripping down his face. He is exactly as Merlin remembers him. His mouth, his jaw, his heartbeat – it’s all the same.

“Arthur,” he says again, louder this time. The blonde’s smile becomes more brilliant at the sound of his name, and he says in a voice that Merlin is sad to acknowledge that he has trouble remembering most days: “Merlin.”

And in an instant Merlin is charging through the water, his slippers making it hard to run as fast as he’d like. The water splashes around his knees, soaking his trousers. Arthur meets him the rest of the way and opens his arms as Merlin throws himself around Arthur’s neck. His chest crashes into Arthur’s armour and the force makes Arthur stumble backwards.

“Arthur!” he says again, his voice cracking as hot tears quickly form and overflow, blurring his vision and trailing down his cheeks. Arthur’s arms encircle Merlin’s waist and hold him tightly, and Merlin can feel him bury his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Arthur whispers.

Another sob wracks through Merlin’s body and he shakes in Arthur’s arms. He wants to tell him that he was – _is_ – worth waiting for, that all those lonely nights and even lonelier days will be nothing but distant memories now that he’s back in Merlin’s arms – where he belongs.

But all Merlin can do is cry and continue saying his name, as if saying it enough will make sure that Arthur will never leave anywhere without him again – that Arthur will never again go where Merlin cannot follow.  

Arthur eventually pulls back and smiles wistfully at him before he leans in and kisses his tears away, slowly and affectionately. 

“Hush, my love. I’m here now,” he whispers.


End file.
